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Apr 18, 2015

Alex of Venice

*This review was originally published at Movie Mezzanine. Alex of Venice,
actor-turned-director Chris Messina’s first feature film, begins with
something of a tour de force moment when George (Messina) abruptly
leaves his wife, the titular Alex (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) and their
son, Dakota (Skylar Gaertner). The series of events that follow this
sudden change lead to increasingly difficult circumstances for Alex in a
somewhat predictable narrative arc that is at once populated with
underdeveloped characters and overwritten dramatic beats. Messina’s film
is an admirable effort, one that feels personal and intimate but bears
the mark of its director’s and writers’ inexperience.

Alex is a workaholic attorney whose father Roger (Don Johnson) lives
with them in their small house. George is a house husband, an occasional
painter and surfer who is frustrated by his restraint to his domestic
duties. Roger is an increasingly irritating presence, though his
smarminess and the early signs of Alzheimer’s disease foreshadow his
redemption by film’s end. Upon George’s departure, Alex is forced to
juggle her job–defending a case of environmental damage against a
constructor–and home life, which proves increasingly difficult, even
with the help of Lily (Katie Nehra), her carefree, sparkling sister.

This gender swap between husband and wife is interesting in the early
parts of the film, drawing attention to the fact that women are rarely
afforded the opportunity in American cinema to rebel against their
confinement to the home in the way that George does. Similarly, Lily
offers a fresher take on the “cool uncle” character as she guides Dakota
through the absence of his father by introducing him to an element
sorely missing from his life: fun. But these games with gender
representation don’t lead to anything substantial. In the end, George is
let off the hook with very little justification, while Alex, having had
to shoulder the weight of the story’s judgmental look at her life
choices, redeems herself by rising above all the problems caused by
their separation.

All these characters are written in archetypal terms, hazily
constructed without individuality or the judicious subtlety that
distinguishes strong character studies. In both narration and form, the
film’s lack of personality undermines its emotional impact; the heart of
the story is lost underneath a sea of Instagram filters and clichéd
moments of truth. This is a film that conveys Alex’s trouble in finding
balance between her work and home duties by showing her incompetency in
cooking steaks with the absence of her husband at the barbecue. The
moment is quite literally overcooked. Elsewhere, musical or visual cues
manipulate the audience for an emotional response. When Alex reaches the
final hour at court, as she runs through inspirational lines about
future generations and the environment, the film unnecessarily cuts to
an image of her son playing gleefully on a Californian beach, yet again
in the romantic hues of sunlight and digital filters.

If Alex of Venice doesn’t fail to connect to the audience
despite its rote stylistic and narrative approach, it is because of the
charming performances of the cast, particularly from the brilliant
Winstead. At once a magnetic and unassuming presence, Winstead has been
an reliable performer in a string of small films that all fall short of
the standard of her work. As has been the case in films such as Smashed and Faults
in recent years, her performance is the best part of the film. Her Alex
is a delicate creation, accessible because of the genuine energy and
vulnerability that she injects into the role. There is a warm
familiarity to her, as if the audience is catching up with an old
friend. Winstead’s sharp interpretation of the character and her
charisma make Alex resonant and extremely tangible. Despite the film’s
best efforts in amplifying this emotional connection with audience with
generic narrative devices, Winstead makes a mark that is virtually the
only memorable element of Alex of Venice after the curtain closes.